


Oneirophobia

by stringinstruments



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Cigarettes, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, something short for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stringinstruments/pseuds/stringinstruments
Summary: “Shh, Potter.” Dark curls against his face, pulling Theo into the nook between head and shoulder, closer than they had ever been before.Boris smelt like their night before; cigarettes, beer, chlorine. But he also felt warm and safe and the only thing that could ground him in that very moment, pulling him back to Earth in the steady heartbeat Theo could feel. It was a comfort like Theo had never felt before, and he smelt like the closest thing Theo could relate to home.





	Oneirophobia

**Author's Note:**

> i finished rereading the goldfinch then saw the movie & i have feelings  


The first time he woke, gasping for air and chest heaving heavily, the bed sheets sticking to his sweaty skin, Boris had woken immediately next to him at the sudden intense movement. He couldn’t remember the nightmare, but he could still feel it in his body, the panic, the loud alarm going off in his head to run, escape, get out of there. It was the dust in his lungs, the tinnitus in his ear, the horrid crunch under his shoe that took him back to then, the worst day of his existence, memories flying through his head over and over begging him to start crying, hyperventilate or else. And it won, the dream had followed him into real life, and he could barely breath.

Trembling gasps, clutching at the dirty bed sheets, the blast moving through his body again just like it had back then. He closed his eyes to try control his breathing, to gain control over his body, but instead he found it was the gangly arms that pulled him closer to the warm body next to him that did the trick.

“_Shh_, _Potter_.” Dark curls against his face, pulling Theo into the nook between head and shoulder, closer than they had ever been before.

Boris smelt like their night before; cigarettes, beer, chlorine. But he also felt warm and safe and the only thing that could ground him in that very moment, pulling him back to Earth in the steady heartbeat Theo could feel. It was a comfort like Theo had never felt before, and he smelt like the closest thing Theo could relate to home.

Wide hands trailing down his sticky bare back in a comforting gesture, distracting him from his nightmare, pulling him closer. A hand on the back of his head, he was so close to Boris’s skin he could almost taste the chlorine on him.

“Sleep, Potter. Sleep.”

…

The second time he woke, it was more of a startling force through his entire body, little earthquakes that came and went and left him breathless each time. Small gasp, body rocking with tremors, making tears prick at the corners of his eyes and eventually fall onto the bed sheets. The bed covers had been kicked off in the middle of the night but he still felt extremely hot, so instead he sat up, pushed his hair off his sticky forehead and rested his head in his hands.

A small creak behind him, slight movement of the bed and dog stirring at the end. A quiet huff.

“Come back to me, Potter.”

A hand on his back, then arms around his waist. Boris looked sleepy, dark curls in his eyes and eye bags heavy and dark, begging him to lay back down. Theo hadn’t even heard him wake up in his panic, too keen to stop the alarming _thud thud thud_ of his heart beat.

Their eyes met, Boris held a mischievous grin in his slumbered look. It was only a moment before Boris pulled him down, Theo falling back onto his body with a _thud_ that made him yell out in surprise and laughter.

“Boris!” He yelped, struggling to escape his arms, nightmare almost all but forgotten as Boris wrestled with him to keep him down, laugher filling the room between the two of them and waking up Popper at the foot of the bed.

…

The third time it was quiet except for the heavy flow of tears down the sides of his face. His body was calm, but his head was not. Inside he was a mess, a storm enveloping his brain and pulling him down, the sadness grabbing onto him by the arms and pulling him under. He had only just barely missed her, by the florist shop by their apartment. He had seen her, she was there, he scrambled to go meet her, but when he had entered she was gone.

He was _so_ close, yet so far.

His chest felt heavy; at some point he had covered his face with an arm, but when pulling away he found Boris placing a sleeping Popper on his chest. The darker boy allowed Theo to see the saddened look on his face in the dark of the night. Theo wondered how long he had been awake, how long he had been watching him, if he noticed the tears on his face. 

Boris pulled the covers up, thumb brushing at Theo’s cheek before they both eventually fell back asleep, Theo grasping at the little dog on his chest, Boris facing Theo with a light snore.

…

The fourth time he woke screaming, a sound that filled the entire house as he shot up into sitting position, grasping at his head and breathing heavily. His sobs racked his entire body, the bed shaking in his agony as he scrunched his eyes closed trying to forget. But he also felt a warm body trying to drag him back down.

“Potter, Potter, is okay,” Boris started softly, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Theo’s. “Just dream, not real.”

Theo hunched up in Boris' arms, trembling as he looked for something to hold onto in his panic. “I saw her, I saw her Boris.” Reaching for the arm around him.

“Shh, shh.” He was rocking Theo gently, probing him back, laying back down on the bed with Theo bundled in his arms.

“I saw her,” he let out a loud sob, burying his face in Boris’ chest, “But it was too late.”

…

The fifth time Theo was determined not to go to bed. They had been watching a movie, but he had not really paying attention to the TV, instead drinking whatever cheap beer and vodka they could find in the house. But Theo was sober enough to stay awake, he only hoped.

Boris had passed out on the sofa with Popchyk next to him, both of them snoring loud enough for it to be heard over the TV.

_ Boris had teased him about it earlier. “Hah! Oneirophobia not real word! You make it up!” Boris exclaimed, except he pronounced oneirophobia very wrong. _

_“It’s a real thing, Boris! I’d rather stay up all night than have another nightmare.” Boris just rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer bottle, grimacing at the taste a little. _

Theo turned the TV off and looked at Boris. How come he never woke up gasping for air, trying to hold onto dear life? Theo always woke up before Boris, always sleeping calmly with his mouth hanging open at times, dark hair a mess around his head. Theo’s gaze darted to the floor. Had he been looking at him for too long? But he was asleep, and also the only other person here, so did it really matter if he gazed at his friend a little longer than what was deemed normal?

Theo moved some of the dirty hair off Boris’ face, looking at his features. The lashes on his cheeks, the skinniness of Boris which made him almost sickly attractive. He looked childlike in his sleep, no beers or swear words to taint his sleepful innocence.

Maybe if Theo could stare at Boris all night, he could get through without a harmful wink of the eyes. Just maybe.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up and the gasp the escaped him as he sat up on the floor. Popchyk raised his head at him from his spot on top of the sleeping Boris, but Boris didn't stir.

…

The sixth time he woke with a startle. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but at the same time he hadn’t gotten a full night of sleep in awhile. He must’ve fallen asleep while they were reading; there was a book laying open on his chest.

His heart was racing, so he reached for a cigarette by the bed and for the lighter, but his hands where too shaky to light it in his sleep induced panic. Popper was at the end of the bed, looking at him curiously. Boris was still sprawled out on the bed next to him, soft snores coming from his mouth that made Theo smile even the slightest.

Theo abandoned the lighter and smoke and curled back up next to Boris, taking in his scent and wrapping an arm around his chest. The boy smoked so much it lingered on his clothes and skin, like an alternative for not being able to work the lighter himself. Besides, Boris gave something a cigarette couldn't; bodily warmth that drew him back into a calm sleep.

…

The seventh time he wondered if he would ever stop waking up in the middle of the night, or if he was doomed to always have nightmares. There was already movement next to him, smoke was in the air. Boris was already awake.

“Boris?” He asked quietly, wiping away sweat from his forehead as he moved to face the other boy. Boris had a big bruise on his cheek, deep purples that protruded almost all the way to his eye and gave him a sickly look in the dark of the room.

Theo’s nightmare wasn’t about his mother; for once it was someone different, it was about Boris.

Boris reaching blindly for the ash tray and stubbing out the end of the cigarette, exhaling loudly through the smoky air. “We both have your dumb word, Potter.”

Theo moved to lazily drape an arm over Boris’ body. “Oneirophobia?”

“That shit.” Boris muttered in affirmation, rolling so he could fit his head above Theo’s, embracing him back. “We so fucked up we can’t have sleep.”


End file.
